Names
by ja54591
Summary: Following the events of "Twilight of the Apprentice," Rex carries out a ritual from the war one final time.


**For Andrew.**

The tactical operations center on Atollon never slept. Even as the sun dipped towards the towering coral mesas of the planet, the room remained alight with the deep greens of displays, monitors, and screens. Rows of comlinks relayed coded signals and urgent requests from across the Outer Rim, their operators sending replies in nearly a dozen different tongues and dialects. The room was a conduit from which the decisions and commands of the Rebel leadership dispersed to cells, ships, and troopers operating ever closer in coordination. There, amidst the hustle and noise of a war playing out over radios, Rex maintained his silent vigil.

In a way, the commotion was a small comfort to him. It was good to be around soldiers again. When the war had ended for him, he had gratefully embraced the quiet life he, Gregor, and Wolffe chose. No early wake-ups. No hauling back-breaking rucksacks for kilometers on end. No flavorless rations, rocky beds, or nicks from trying to shave without water. Best of all was the silence; endless peace, only ever punctuated by the grinding of the walker's gears or the excitement of hunting joopas. But the call to arms never fully left him. It had been bred into him: to seek out order, to lead, to run toward the sound of gunfire. His aching back still straightened with pride at the thought of his brethren, and his arm twitched with the instinct to salute whenever a voice reminded him of Tano, Skywalker, or Kenobi.

Rex stood, his eyes fixed to the display that dominated the wall of the room. Atollon appeared as a green circle at the center of the screen, ringed by concentric circles that indicated thousands of kilometers in distance. Every time a comet passed, or the occasional ship ventured too close, a small pulse of green light would illuminate at the edges of the screen, tracking their movement. Rex shook his head with a slight grin. Even after all those years, he still felt obligated to wait for Ahsoka to return before he could rest. She had grown so much in the fifteen years since he had last seen her, becoming a leader that Rex knew would have made her master proud. Even so, a seed of worry remained in the back of his mind. Something about the way she had looked at him when they had spoken, however brief as it had been, told him something was amiss. Her words had been too calm, too absolute, even for her.

A buzz of motion brought Rex's attention back to the screen. A trooper called out from a row of screens to his right.

"Unidentified ship entering sector, on approach vector towards the planet. Transponder is scrambled. Scans report VCX-class shuttle, designating _Bogey-1_." A green triangle appeared on the screen, a trail of dots plotting its course towards Atollon. A small glow of anticipation burned deep in Rex's stomach.

" _Bogey-1_ entering identification zone. Sending challenge code now." Rex moved closer to the soldier, leaning over his shoulder to see the response. Seconds later, lines of binary began to cross the operator's display. "Re-designate _Bogey-1_ to _Phantom_. Shuttle _Phantom_ , state cargo and intent." More lines of code ran across the screen. The soldier looked up to Rex. "Sir, _Phantom_ reports passengers, requests immediate landing clearance."

"Send it, and inform Captain Syndulla," Rex replied, hardly able to mask the excitement building in his voice. He turned, quickly making his way to the door.

"Sir, _Phantom_ requests medical support at landing site."

The walk to the landing pad became a jog, then a sprint. By the time he reached the site, the angular wings of the _Phantom_ were visible against the brilliant orange of the sunset. The _Ghost_ crew had beat him to the pad, acknowledging his arrival with looks of anticipation, then concern as a team of medics drew closer behind him. The _Phantom_ approached the pad slowly, rotating with a gentle spin so the boarding ramp faced them. Rex unconsciously held his breath.

The ramp fell open impossibly slow, kicking up a small cloud of dirt as it eased down to the surface. From the darkened interior, Kanan hobbled out. The strip of cloth around his eyes couldn't completely hide what looked like a hideous burn at his temple. Rex fought back panic as he looked to Kanan's side. Ezra was struggling to guide his master, tear stains on his cheeks obvious even from the distance. The pair's clothes were torn and singed, marred by black dirt and dried sweat. Ezra finally lifted his downward gaze, locking eyes with Rex. In his eyes, Rex saw an expression that he had seen so many times fifteen years ago.

Loss.

Rex sensed the movement around him, but felt frozen in place. Hera was now embracing Kanan, the team of medics brushing past Rex as they ran to assist. Ezra had once again looked downwards, Zeb and Sabine now moving to his side, shepherding the stunned boy towards the ramp of the _Ghost_.

All around him, Rex felt an all-too-familiar pressure collapsing around his lungs, throat, and stomach. Sound and light were beginning to lose definition, convincing Rex to turn back towards the base. The walk to his quarters seemed to take hours, the gravity of the universe weighing down on his feet and legs as he tried to move forward. When the metal door finally slid closed behind him, it took all his remaining strength to control his decent as he sat down on his neatly-made bunk. He sat there, forearms on his knees, staring at the gunmetal wall before him. When the pressure in his throat began to subside, he slowly reached under his bunk, pulling out a small metal box.

Placing the box on his lap, he ran his fingers over top of the cold metal. The eight spokes of the Grand Army's insignia radiated across the top, the burning sun of an era past etched into the lid. Sliding the top off and placing it aside, Rex pulled a thick notebook from it. Bound in faded brown leather, the book smelled of aged paper and carbon scoring. Rex gently unfastened the small elastic strap that held it shut and opened the journal. Lines of numbers and names greeted him once again.

 _CT-1507-25 "Deeks"_

 _CT-5933-11 "Rock"_

 _CT-4821-42 "Teth"_

The numbers and names stretched from bottom to top, page after page. Stitch marks marred the spine of the book, where Rex had re-sown it by hand each time he had added pages to extend the list.

 _CT-3384-14 "Trips"_

 _CT-9837-50 "Crook"_

 _CT-3190-05 "Benn"_

Flipping through the pages, Rex remembered the furtive look the vendor had given him when he had purchased it. Apparently, he hadn't thought that clones had personal possessions.

 _CT-6686-24 "Howler"_

 _CT-7579-33 "Gravel"_

 _CT-4489-27 "Able"_

On the nights that the cannon fire had been too frequent or the screams of the dying too loud in his mind to sleep, Rex had scoured every casualty report generated from his command. The harder part was finding the trooper's unit, to match the name to the number. It was the name the mattered; it would never make it to the databases were the loss reports were kept. Rex finally found were the list came to an end, halfway through the page. Rex stared at the empty line for a moment, then pressed a pen to the old parchment, black lines of Aurebesh script darkening the yellowed paper.

 _Tano, Ahsoka_

He stared at the words a moment longer, then closed the book, placed it in the box, and gently slid it under the bed once more. His gaze returned to the empty wall. Like so many times before this, all he had was the name in the book. There was no body, no possessions to recover, no family to notify. It occurred to him that even if Kanan and Ezra had returned with her deceased form, he wouldn't know what to do with it. There had never been time to bury the dead during the war, and he had no knowledge of what a Jedi's last rights involved, or even if that would suit her.

Rex looked down to the floor, the edge of the small box still visible. No, this is what she would have wanted; to be remembered alongside the soldiers she fought so long to protect. To have her name interred alongside the thousands of others that would never be spoken again. Alone, Rex would mourn her the only way that was fitting, the only way he knew how.

Burying his face in his hands, Rex wept.

 **Remember the fallen.**

 **JA**


End file.
